


Potzelui

by LadyOneiroi



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, five times kissed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOneiroi/pseuds/LadyOneiroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five kisses, from conflict to peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potzelui

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tinsoldaten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinsoldaten/gifts).



i.

There is nothing he wants more than for this Russian to put his lips on him. Of course, the setting hardly lends itself to romance, this stuffy back room in some battle-ravaged border town. In another time, he would have done everything in his power to get the slender man to come home with him. As it was, this was war, and the tacit man seemed mostly focused on revenge.

Fucker was like a woman scorned for Makarov.

Still, Yuri was good with his hands. Good with a knife, good with a gun.

Good with a needle and thread.

He runs his tool in an out of Soap’s skin, sealing up the tear he gained on the previous mission. Soap focuses too hard on all of the tattoos adorning his companion’s arms, at the musculature just beneath that inked skin. Yuri’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow for once, and the captain can’t say he dislikes the view.

A quick snip sees to the end of their contact, and Yuri goes to stand.

Of course, it was the perfect opportunity for the Captain's mouth to run ahead of his brain, tearing off into the sunset in under ten words.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it better?”

He’s teasing is all. Flirting, if he wanted to be honest with himself, but Soap wouldn’t dare say it out loud. The old man would have his ass for something so stupid.

The tattooed soldier sits there for a moment, stock still, and Soap knows he has offended.

Yuri kisses just to the right of the ugly wound, chapped lips somehow chaste against tawny skin, and Soap is made aware that he has fire for blood.

“плакса.” the would-be medic says, before turning and leaving his patient to his shivering.

* * *

 

ii.

Everything’s on the table now, if only in metaphor. Yuri has not been able to look him in the eyes since Prague, and his visits are short and monitored. Price is a constant sentinel whenever Yuri is in the room.

It pisses him off.

There were things Soap wanted to say, but couldn’t. The old man would jump in as he was wont to do, and when he got on a rant he did not stop.

This was not over. Yuri might be surprised at his response, but the bedridden patient wouldn’t be able to tell now. Everything the Russian had said, he had said while speaking to Soap directly, even if Nikolai and Price were there as well. To Yuri, it was all a failure against Soap. The other two might not have existed, for as long as he spoke it was just the two of them.

That was weeks ago. If Soap doesn’t talk soon, he will explode.

Price has to go.

Yuri moves to grab some of the covers Soap has kicked almost off of his cot. The Scotsman manages to make eye contact with his superior for a moment, before speaking to the brunette with a handful of blankets.

“C’mere.”

Yuri’s attention is drawn back to him. Soap hates that look in his eyes, in the moment they meet his. In another life, Yuri might have made a fine Catholic, for all the guilt woven into his smokey stare. All too soon, he would look away, keep his head bowed, gaze low, and Soap would have to wait for another opportunity they might never have.

It was now or never. He grabs Yuri by the back of the head and pulls him down, lips crashing against his.

The old man hates PDA. He’ll give them privacy. When Soap hears him moving to be offended rather than excuse himself, he pulls back for air.

“Out.”

Price does not take orders, but neither does he want to be made aware of these things. Indignant shuffling comes to a halt, replaced with the stillness that Soap had long associated with the old sniper.

“We’re having a talk later.”

A speech, more like, but Soap says nothing. Once he hears the door click, he looks back at Yuri.

There’s something oddly _pretty_ about his dazed expression.

* * *

 

iii.

Five months without him. Five months since the Godforsaken war ended. Five months of sexual frustration and stale whiskey.

Yuri tastes sweet. Yuri tastes real.

Yuri sits in the driver's seat like a limp fish.

“Price is not here for you to distract, Soap.”

Blue eyes dull.

“I wanted to do that.”

A silence drags out between them.

“You wanted to kiss me?”

Soap almost sputters at the disbelief on Yuri’s face. All he can manage is a half-laughed “Aye.” in response.

Almost immediately after, he finds himself being attacked in Yuri’s passenger seat.

Affectionately, of course.

* * *

 

iv.

Long fingers trail down Soap’s firm back, carefully not to leave marks. Soap could almost swear his lovers hands are shaking, but they both keep their silences. Yuri continues to stroke up and down, from the top of his spine to the middle.

Soap wants more, but dares not rush the man beside him.

Yuri has never had this sort of power over a lover before, he knows. It’s a learning curve for him.

Apprehensively, Yuri runs one of those lovely fingers down to the base of his spine, and Soap shivers in response. Yuri does not have to ask if he likes it, stroking his way from bottom to top in answer. Soap relaxes again, all but melting into the mattress in answer to the petting. He’d be content with this, just his Yuri slowly teasing him to sleep.

Yuri’s inked hands dip lower, and Soap groans against the arm he has propped his head upon. Yuri’s laugh makes him redden. The Russian hardly ever laughs, and it’s usually mocking. This is different.

He bows to plant a kiss to one of Soap’s broad shoulders, adjusting himself to better straddle the man below him.

* * *

 

v.

Their bedroom has become a blizzard of papers. Soap leans against the doorway, looking own curiously at the man who sits in the middle of it all.Yuri has artfully arranged the papers in a circle around him, the organized chaos a lovely spiral. He holds another sheaf of papers in his hand.

Most of it is sketches of various people per page. Yuri has finally found the more focused part of his various sketchbooks.

Yuri stares into his own face, one Soap could draw by heart. He studies the portrait with a furrowed brow.

“You always get that face when you read. Can't get you to look away for anything.”

Yuri tilts his head back to look at Soap.

“You drew me?”

Soap’s eyes wander down to the papers in Yuri’s grip.

“Pretty sure you’ve got your proof there, love.”

Yuri looks back at the papers again, mystified, and leafs through them. Several pages of the Russian from every angle, from quick sketches to more tangible works. Soap can see his lover's posture straighten.

“This is an honor.”

Soap tries not to shake his head at Yuri’s awestruck tone. Instead, he strides up to him, carefully not to disrupt Yuri’s system of papers, an kneels to his level.

“Pleasure’s mine.” he mutters against Yuri’s lips, just before silencing both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt received from the always excellent Tin when I had drabble prompts open on my blog. This time I was working with five times kissed, and this ended up happening.
> 
> Maybe one day I can give you all canon compliant Suri angst, replete with canon death scenes, but it is not this day.
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this like a year ago, and I adjusted the parts I found wonky. It's got a number of differences from the original drabble, but I hope they're all for the better.


End file.
